Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Power Trip
by Talgoran
Summary: The balance of Types is upset. Amid a violent thunderstorm, a human finds himself transformed into a Squirtle. With the help of a journeying Cyndaquil, he chooses to take balance into his own claws in a new world of uncertainty and danger.
1. Chapter 1: Bolt

**Chapter 1**

**Bolt**

Beneath canopies of leaf and storm cloud, a Cyndaquil scurried along a worn forest path. He was alone.

Another old tree was struck by a bolt of lightning just off the forest trail. Two Taillow and a Pidgey tumbled down from the branches. Their wings twitched from the electric current, and they made small noises in their throats. A Pidgeotto flew out of the same tree with a squawk of surprise and jerky wing flaps.

The Cyndaquil scampered along the middle of the path. Due to the commotion and panic, he no longer knew how close he was to the wood's edge. Not too far, at any rate. Surely just a minute or two further. Karprest was close, so tantalizingly close after days on the road. He just had to endure the insanity of this forest and he'd finally be there.

A bend in the path. Ten steps ahead and off to the side, two Patrat were standing bolt upright by a tunnel beneath a surface root, heads rapidly swiveling to take in the forest's chaotic state. A third Patrat emerged from the tunnel as the Cyndaquil watched. One of them spotted him. Its tail-tip twitched, and the other two immediately pierced the Cyndaquil with their gazes.

"Oh no, oh no. No, no, no," the Cyndaquil squeaked as his steps slowed. Another lightning bolt struck nearby but out of sight, throwing a flash of shadows upon the scene. All four Pokémon started as a blast of thunder followed. Then the Patrat dashed at the Cyndaquil.

He gasped in a loud breath and continued along the path as fast as his four limbs would move. The first Patrat aimed an intercepting tackle, so the Cyndaquil planted his forelimbs and skidded to a messy stop. The Patrat grunted for the expected impact as it hurtled off the path and into a leafy bush.

The Cyndaquil started forward again, eying a thick tree root that draped over the path. The two pursuing Patrat weren't four steps behind. Their quick breathing sounded born of fear, not anger. The unnatural storm was the source of not only their fear, but of all the pandemonium in the forest. Where did the thick storm clouds come from? No way they could have formed with such speed, but the Cyndaquil had seen them with his own eyes. The clear blue skies had been transformed within half an hour. And why was there no rain? A thunderstorm without rain was like a Farfetch'd without its stalk.

He ran to the root, pressed all four paws against the textured bark, and launched himself up, hoping the Patrat would be unable to stop themselves from running right underneath him. He smiled triumphantly, soaring five feet above the dirt, as he heard their dismayed growls. Then a furry head slammed into his belly. All of the Cyndaquil's balance and orientation was lost as he whirled through the air.

His back crashed into a tree, and he fell to the ground. Immediately, the Cyndaquil scrambled to his feet, located the path, and began to run to it. The Patrat's hit was a good one, but the Cyndaquil wasn't a baby anymore. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. The two Patrat were there, just past the thick root, but it seemed like they may not be chasing him anymore. Their aggressive instincts would dwindle once he left the vicinity of their home. The Cyndaquil would have sighed in relief if he wasn't panting. He was on this journey to become stronger, in part, but being attacked was just so unnerving. Why couldn't Pokémon become stronger by, say, thinking ferocious thoughts? Life wouldn't have to be so demanding. He wouldn't have to be on this stupid path in the first place.

Focusing his attention ahead once more, the Cyndaquil spotted a Caterpie crawling frantically back and forth on a tree branch above the path, raising its head and swinging it around every now and then anxiously. Another lightning bolt, another roar of thunder. As if on cue, a pair of Rattata darted into view far ahead, apparently seeking cover from the rainless thunderstorm. The Rattata ran along the dirt path toward him, just as the Caterpie noticed him and gurgled a wild cry of attack.

The Cyndaquil groaned.

There was a clearing in the trees filled with tall grasses off the path to his left. Maybe he could lose them there. He veered off the path and ran headfirst into the grasses, hoping that he could make it out of the forest in one piece.

* * *

Grass blades meeting in a breeze. That tranquil sound was the first he heard. The sound came and went, like the breeze that delivered it. Judging by the origin of the sound, he was nearly surrounded by grasses rising high above him. All brushing against one another in the breeze. Although, the breeze sounded more like gusts of wind. Felt like them too. So he opened his eyes.

Yes, he was correct. Grass on all sides. The wild kind that grew where other plants did not. The grass was, on the whole, a healthy pale green. Rainfall must be common in this area. And it was so tall. It was the tallest grass he'd ever seen. There were trees, too. Tall, tall trees. The treetops rivaled the sky's gray clouds in their height. Why was everything so big around here? Or maybe...he was just small? Hm.

The world seemed distant to him. Like he was free to observe it at his leisure, and nothing would befall him. But he caught the feeling beginning to fade, just as he first became aware of it. He was in a forest, of course. The trees and other vegetation had clued him in. The sky was thick with dark clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed far away. A couple of breaths later, its sound rolled over him, borne on a gust of the storm's wind. The forest was dim from the clouds, but still well lit, meaning it must be daytime.

His body, still feeling rather distant from his awareness, felt like it was slumped on the ground in a sitting position. With a bit of effort, he rolled his head back, struck it softly against bark. He was propped up against a tree, as if the hand of a gentle giant had placed him there to rest. High above, broad green leaves shook in the wind on the tree's branches. They would protect him from the storm's rain. He peered over the grasses' tips and away from his tree's protection. But he could make out no curtain of rain. Strange, that.

What was he doing here, anyway? That feeling of detachment was quickly vanishing. Why was he alone in a forest filled with humongous plants? He leaned forward to get to his feet. His body felt alien to him as he did so. More compact, less lanky. And his center of gravity was off. He almost fell down, but caught himself with a well-placed foot. The dirt felt slightly moist, and cool. So he must be barefoot. He glanced down.

On the ground where his foot should have been was a strange appendage. It had taut blue skin, three splayed toes tipped with short claws, and vanished above the knee into a shell covered in the front with tan scutes. He stared at it. Bits of loose dirt peeked out between the toes. Then he recoiled in surprise, because the foreign leg was where _his_ leg should have been. The short blue leg followed. He half-hopped, half-fell backward, trying to escape. His fall ended earlier than he expected as he collided with the tree, and his back made a sound that wasn't a _THUD_, but a _TOK_, a sound similar to two small stones being clanked together.

"Agh! What is this? Why is my leg a Squirtle leg? My chest is..." He patted his chest, felt warm and smooth scutes underneath his hands. "It's a shell!" Then he looked at his hands. They resembled his feet; his hands, too, had three short digits ending in pointy claws. "My hands...they're...what's happened to me?"

Turning his head, he studied what he could see of his back, now a smooth shell composed of large brown scutes. But then his eyes noticed something behind him that was blue like his skin and just above ground level. Was that...? He focused, tried to sense every inch of his body. And tensed some new muscles. The blue limb twitched. It was a tail.

He screamed. The new body was too much. His arms and legs were stubby. His torso was hard as a rock. He had claws. _Claws_. And five limbs. Worse, he was discovering new and distasteful sensations by the second. Why was he a Squirtle? _How_ was he a Squirtle? Where was he? His screams were mostly contained by the waving grasses around him that grew to be twice his height. They echoed back upon him, encouraging the pounding within his skull and his racing heart. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to sort out the disturbing messages of his new body.

A new sound reached him. Not booming thunder, wind through grass, or the tapping of his shell. It was coming from beyond the grasses' edge, and it was coming fast. A harsh rustling, the sound of grass being roughly parted or broken as someone or something rushed through it. Any second the source of the noise would burst into his bubble, the area clear of grass at the base of his tree.

His body tensed, seemed to want to get low to the ground. Get on all fours, get stable. _Preposterous_, he thought, and pivoted his strange body toward the sound. And promptly fell onto his back. Due to his shell, his weight just wasn't where he thought it would be. Turning quickly threw too much weight outward, toppling him. He rocked back and forth on his back, flailing his extremities to right himself. But the chaotic movement did nothing but stabilize his position just where he didn't want to be. Despite his predicament, he couldn't help but smile wryly. _I'd always heard of Squirtle getting stuck on their backs, especially younger ones,_ he thought, _but I didn't believe it really happened until now._

The grasses shook and bent. A Pokémon the same size as him shot out of the grass and right into the Squirtle. It caught his outstretched leg and spun him around like a top.

"Waaaah!" he cried as the world revolved around him.

The newcomer gave a cry of its own as it tumbled into the tree-trunk and fell onto its side. It looked like a Cyndaquil.

"Urgh...I've had enough of trees for a lifetime." It spoke in a quiet male voice. Yet the voice was animated, and emphatic, in spite of its softness.

Once the Cyndaquil had recovered, he quickly reached out his forelimbs to stop the Squirtle's spin, and pulled him to his feet.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't think there was anyone here, and I've been running, so I wasn't looking, and..." he tilted his head. "Hey...you're a Squirtle. Which means you're not from around here. I haven't seen any ponds or lakes nearby. So...you've got to be a traveler, like me!"

The crinkles that were his eyes crinkled even further, and the spiky flames on his back flared incrementally larger for a moment. It was hard to tell with certainty because of the Cyndaquil's long snout, but the Squirtle guessed that he was smiling.

But far more importantly, the Cyndaquil was talking. It wasn't squeaking, growling, or hissing. It was speaking intelligently. All the Squirtle could do was stare, eyes wide, at this anomaly. A talking Cyndaquil? It was unheard of.

"You don't look well, Squirtle." His voice was concerned, now. "What's wrong? Oh, did you get in a tough battle with the Pokémon here? You don't _look_ beaten up..."

"You," he began, then cleared his throat and began again. "You're a talking Cyndaquil. You're speaking! That's incredible!"

In response, the Cyndaquil dropped to all fours and headbutted the Squirtle lightly. He stumbled back a couple of steps, but managed to stay balanced for once. "Hey, stop!" Why did the Cyndaquil do that?

"Come on, snap out of it." The Cyndaquil was striding forward, apparently trying to give him another shove. "Never heard of a Confused Pokémon talking nonsense, but I don't know much about Confusion to begin with."

The Squirtle danced away, beginning to get a feel for his balance and weight. "Stop, stop! I'm not Confused, I'm just surprised!"

He stopped. "Why would you be surprised? Everyone..." He froze. No part of him moved except the silent flames on his back. His head turned away. Did he hear something?

A flash of lightning broke the Cyndaquil out of his reverie. His voice was even quieter than before. "We need to get out of here. I think those two Rattata are coming, maybe others." He turned his head around, looking at the waving grasses and thick tree-trunk that surrounded them. "Do you know the way out of the forest, Squirtle?"

"No," he answered slowly. He couldn't hear anything. Nothing was amiss. "I don't even know-"

"No time!" hissed the Cyndaquil. "I'm sorry, but we have to go now. Trust me!" He bounded on all fours to the edge of the grass.

The Squirtle stood by the tree, uncertainly. Was he being tricked? Manipulated, for some purpose? He could neither hear nor see any other Pokémon coming. Granted, he wasn't used to the senses of a Squirtle, and maybe the Cyndaquil had sharper hearing, but the situation seemed set up. Convenient that the Cyndaquil had bumped into him, then immediately asked him to come along to who knows where. The odds that the Cyndaquil had fortuitously stumbled upon him just in time to lead him away from some danger were ludicrously low.

Logically, too, the Cyndaquil's actions did not make sense. The Cyndaquil had nothing obvious to gain from the Squirtle's company. He'd just proven to the Cyndaquil how "Confused" he was, how unaware of what was normal and what was unnatural. Why should the Cyndaquil risk his own welfare to protect some baggage like him?

"Aren't you coming? It's dangerous here." The Cyndaquil looked back with one forelimb raised and ready to step into the tall grass. Reading the Cyndaquil's facial expression was like trying to make sense of a cloud formation. It could be anything. His eyes, if they were even open, were hidden behind wrinkles of fine fur, and reading into the snout and mouth position was completely foreign to the Squirtle. What were his intentions? Did he mean well? Was he showing kindness, and for a total stranger? Or were his intentions malevolent, but hidden behind an innocent facade? There was no time to sit back and reason out the solution. No time to decide what to believe. But...

"Yes. Yes, I'm coming." Given the circumstances, the Squirtle thought it best to follow the Cyndaquil. Better to travel with someone who had a chance of being genuine than to fend for himself in the middle of an unknown forest. Something else pushed him to say yes, too. His gut instinct, or perhaps the body he was inhabiting. It wanted to go with the Cyndaquil. This gut feeling was certainly something he should not become accustomed to trusting, but it was alright in this case. He had nothing else to go on.

The Squirtle tried to jog forward on his two new legs, but ended up almost waddling instead. Movement was going to be awkward for a while. Side by side with the Cyndaquil, he prepared to push through the grasses. The vegetation was so thick that he could barely see five arm-lengths into it.

His companion took a deep breath and muttered, "We can do this."

The Squirtle was unsure whether or not the Cyndaquil was addressing him, or just steeling himself. He replied, just in case. "Right, no problem."

Together, the Squirtle and Cyndaquil stepped forward.

* * *

The two Pokémon pushed through the brush. In seconds, they could see nothing but grass every which way. Like swimming in cloudy water, any direction was as good as the other. Initially, the Squirtle stayed close to the Cyndaquil, allowing his companion a slight lead. But he fell behind quickly. His steps were small, like his new legs, and he still felt uncoordinated. The Cyndaquil seemed to take the Squirtle's falling behind to mean that he should lead, and took on the brunt of the trail-blazing without complaint.

The only sounds the pair made were from their bodies brushing past the sturdy grass. The Squirtle was surprised to realize he had not begun panting. Yet this was hard work. He used his arms to push past the grass on either side of him, and his legs to step around or push through the tall blades that were in his way. He was exerting himself, no doubt. But his body was barely more tired than when the two had first started out. The Squirtle did not relish the physical challenge of pushing through the brush. He merely found his new body's energy to be interesting. Were all Pokémon this strong? Maybe he was an exceptionally fit Squirtle. Then again, the Cyndaquil did not seem to be tiring either.

Deprived of sights and sounds besides the grass, the Squirtle's thoughts turned inward. So many questions had been forming in his mind. And some over-arching worry nagged at him like an itchy patch of skin. No time for thinking though. Remaining focused on the here and now was essential to staying safe. The Squirtle did his best to store the questions away in his mind for later.

This time, the Squirtle heard the Rattata, if that is what they were. Loud rustlings in the grass, coming from somewhere behind them. The Squirtle and Cyndaquil's passage was far from silent, which would give away their location to any Pokémon in the vicinity.

"I hope we'll end up closer to the edge of the forest, and not deeper in it," the Cyndaquil muttered as he quickened his pace. The relative dimness of the tall grass lessened as the grass thinned out. They were leaving the grass cover. But they had to keep moving, or whatever was chasing them would catch up in a matter of seconds.

With an accompanying blast of thunder, they were out of the grass. The winds were stronger here. The Squirtle could only imagine what the storm's force would be like outside of the shelter of the forest. Although storm winds swept through the forest, the Squirtle was correct in his earlier observation: no rain fell. Tall trees bearing broad leaves grew in plenty, but even their cover would not be able to block out all rainfall. The air did not feel or smell moist, either. It could not be raining, not without that damp in the air. The Squirtle knew next to nothing about this forest or the local weather patterns, but surely a violent thunderstorm that completely lacked any rain was remarkably strange. Especially considering the region ordinarily saw frequent rainfall, as evidenced by the flourishing plant life. He resolved to ask the Cyndaquil about it.

"What luck! There's the path!" The Cyndaquil said in his softly energetic voice. He raised his forelimb and pointed to a dirt path that meandered around trees, bushes, and slopes. Surface roots from the older and larger trees lay across the path at a few points, as if the trees themselves were raising their arms to protect the delicate path from harm. The pair headed towards it.

A Butterfree fluttered into view up ahead just as two Rattata emerged from the brush behind them. The Squirtle spun around, once again feeling a bodily urge to drop to all fours and _do_ something about the Rattata. But he stood on his two legs and quickly sized up the Rattata. Their bright red eyes contrasted sharply with the purple of their fur. Each one's tail was rigid and upright, and each looked hyper-alert. They were frightened, and agitated, at least as much as the Squirtle.

One of them shouted to the Cyndaquil and Squirtle in a high-pitched squeak, "Get out, get out!" Then the two Rattata started toward them, aggressively.

"What do we do, what do we do?!" whispered the Squirtle frantically at the same time that the Cyndaquil cried, "Run, let's go!"

The pair fled from the Rattata, and were soon hurrying along the path. Questions burst into the Squirtle's mind one after the other, in rapid succession. Why are the Pokémon attacking us? Can't we just talk to them? What if they catch me? How do I protect myself? Can I fight? Can _you_ fight? But there was no time to talk, no time to even think about anything other than running.

The first tree root covering the path was not an issue. The Cyndaquil leaped it one bound. The Squirtle swung his legs over on the right while pressing against it with his left hand. A sloppy maneuver, but his coordination was improving. He heard no claws scraping against bark behind him, so the Rattata must have jumped it easily. They were evidently pursuing though. The sound of fast breathing was gaining. The Squirtle's speed was no match for that of either the Rattata or the Cyndaquil. Why were they chasing the Squirtle and Cyndaquil; what had they done? How long would they chase?

Meanwhile, the Butterfree had taken to flapping up above them, over the path, and traveling the same direction. The path was clear of trees, so the air was likewise empty for the Butterfree to fly through. Every few seconds, a gust of wind would roll through the forest. The Butterfree's wing-beats were forceful and irregular as it tried to adapt to the wild winds. It glanced down, and appeared to first notice the commotion and chase happening only ten feet below it. Its course abruptly changed and it veered away. But as it did so, the Butterfree gave a shrill cry and its whole body shuddered. A dense cloud of yellow-green powder poured out of its body from near the base of the wings. The wind quickly scattered the cloud into a descending blanket.

"Run, just run!" the Cyndaquil shouted. The Squirtle ran. He heard the two Rattata squeak, and chanced a glance back. The Rattata were off the path, running for the cover of the nearest tree's branches as the powder descended. Again, the Squirtle marveled at how large the trees were from his new perspective.

The next root was an especially thick one, and neither would be able to circumvent it before the powder landed. The Cyndaquil jumped and swiftly scrambled over the root and out of sight. The Squirtle, breathing hard now from the chase, gathered his strength and leaped. Surprising himself, he managed to land all four limbs most of the way up the root. The recoil from the impact threatened to make him fall backward, so before he knew consciously what he was doing, he had curled his fingers and toes to dig his short claws into the bark for purchase. And froze. How very bestial that was. Digging his claws in like that. Only a Pokémon would even think of doing that.

He hung there for a couple of seconds, his face surprised with a hint of disgust. He wasn't a Pokémon! The action felt natural, and the claws worked very well. But thinking about it made him feel profane, like he'd said something taboo in front of a crowd.

"Squirtle!" he heard the Cyndaquil call from beyond the thick root. He glanced up. The colorful powder had arrived. This root marked the edge of the blanket, where the powder thinned away into nothing, but even so there was no escape from it. With one last effort, the Squirtle scrambled over the root and landed roughly on the dirt path. He could feel little particles settling on his skin and shell as he did so. Once he was safely on the ground, the Squirtle examined his arms and legs. The yellow-green powder was fading as he watched. He peered closely. No, not fading. The dots of color were being _absorbed_. He tried to brush them off, but the powder was already strongly adhered to him. In a moment it had all been absorbed by his skin and shell.

"I don't know what that was, but only a little bit landed on you, Squirtle. Let's go, the exit is right there!" The Cyndaquil pointed his forelimb along the path. Sure enough, the path led to an opening in the trees. Beyond that point, it seemed brighter and more spacious.

"Are you okay to move? Not feeling strange?"

"I'm alright," he said, but knew right after that he was not. "Wait." A tingling, as of electric current, was spreading swiftly through his body. His leg felt rigid as he tried to step forward with the Cyndaquil. The muscles were tight, almost locked. He could not move! Abruptly he was aware of his heartbeat as panic began to set in.

"Uh-oh. That Butterfree must have released...what do you call it? My mom mentioned it once. They're spores, or something like that."

"How do you...stop it?" the Squirtle grated out as even his jaw tightened slightly.

"Oh!" The Cyndaquil rose up on his legs and studied the nearby bushes. "These red berries, Cheri Berries, they've got something in them that reverses Paralysis. But...I can't see any. Krow's luck. None growing around here. Sorry, Squirtle."

The Squirtle couldn't help but wonder why the Cyndaquil, whom he had just met, was sticking around for him when safety was finally within reach. "Thanks, but never mind. How long does it last?" he said. With great physical effort, he could walk slowly forward. He could not have managed a more unnatural stride even if he had tried before the powder had struck.

"I'm not sure. I was Paralyzed once; this Mareep was drinking from the stream near..." he stopped himself. "Sorry. What I mean is it never lasts long - maybe a minute? A minute and a half?" Something behind the Squirtle caught his attention, but the Squirtle could not easily turn his head to see.

"What is it?" the Squirtle asked.

"That Paras has the wild in its eyes. It'll attack for sure. Urgh, fantastic." He was silent for a second. The Squirtle could not decipher his expression. "We have to go. But...but you're Paralyzed!" He groaned quietly.

Now the Squirtle felt embarrassed. This Cyndaquil was too much. Why was his companion showing such consideration for him? He'd done nothing but slow them down. He was worse than helpful. So he wasn't about to let the Cyndaquil fall in harm's way if he could help it.

"Go, just go. Don't wait for me. I'll...I'll catch up." The unpleasant tingling was lessening by the second, in fact, but he felt he would not be able to move at his previous pace for a good minute.

"What, no! We've almost made it out. I'm not going to just...just leave you here, okay?" He hesitated, searching for words. "I'm not good at motivating, riling people up – any of that. But...well, we're getting you out of here, alright?"

The Squirtle wasn't sure what to say to that. He was afraid to say "Thank you," because that would be accepting the Cyndaquil's offer. And allowing the Cyndaquil to remain in this dangerous forest for him was embarrassing. The thought made him feel guilty. So he said nothing, and focused on fighting his unruly body. His gait was becoming smoother, less twitchy.

"No!" the Cyndaquil yelped. "Here it comes!"

Desperately, the Squirtle said, "Can't you breathe fire, or shoot it from your back? You're on fire after all!"

"Erm...yes, I can. I mean, probably. But...not here." He backed up on all fours next to the struggling Squirtle, presumably facing the Paras.

As hope seemed lost, the effects of the Paralysis rapidly began to diminish. With a spasm, the Squirtle regained almost full control of his muscles. Recalling what the Cyndaquil had said, he attributed the short duration to the low amount of exposure he had received.

"Okay!" he said triumphantly, and pushed onward. The Cyndaquil spun back to face the exit and ran along beside him.

The Squirtle could vaguely tell that yet again, a Pokémon was giving chase, but only for a few seconds. Compared to his Paralyzed state, he felt like the wind. In no time, the Cyndaquil and Squirtle were leaving the forest. They scrambled over one more root as another thunderclap sounded, continued past a frightened and distracted Ledyba, breezed by the last few trees at the forest's edge, and left the forest behind.

The Cyndaquil and the Squirtle slowed their flight and finally stopped. Standing still at last, they caught their breath. Squirtle checked behind them. No Pokémon were in pursuit. They were safe. Facing away from the forest, he observed the scenery.

"Wow," the Cyndaquil remarked. "Beautiful! Isn't it?"


	2. Chapter 2: History

**Chapter 2**

**History**

Green rolling hills, all around, greeted the Squirtle's eyes. Some of the hills' greenery gave way to rocky cliff faces, others' grassy coats were intact. Here and there small copses or even individual trees stood proudly on the slopes. Though the land for miles around rippled and rolled, there was a steady downward slope on the whole, toward a thick blue river. The path upon which the two Pokémon stood snaked down through the hills, and the Squirtle spotted a couple of footpath offshoots from the main one leading into the distance. An hour or two of walking away from the forest's edge, the main path seemed to end by the river. Or at least the Squirtle guessed it did, as making out detail past the river was difficult in the stormy haze. The river must have been a half mile wide. But where the path met the river, there was a smattering of roofed structures all grouped up, with a clearing or plaza in the center. A small settlement, or town maybe?

A drawn-out, almost lethargic boom of thunder fell upon the pair, though rain was still completely absent. The clouds above had lost some of their menacing darkness, but a glimpse of the sun was not going to happen any time soon. In fact, the day seemed a bit darker. The day was marching toward night even though there was no sun to report it. It must have been noon or early afternoon when the Squirtle first woke under the massive tree. As he had surmised earlier, the winds were powerful out here. What were sudden gusts in the forest were now sound-erasing blasts that punctuated a steady breeze. The wind changed directions often, but it carried no wet after-rain smell.

"Do you want to head to some cover?" The Cyndaquil faced him, and once again the Squirtle experienced the helplessness of trying to read body language and facial expressions that were absolutely foreign to him. "Resting someplace safe and quiet for a while would be really nice, wouldn't it?" The Cyndaquil planted his feet wide apart to brace against the wind.

The Squirtle nodded. He was reliant on the Cyndaquil, he realized, as they walked toward the obvious choice for shelter: a natural mound of earth with a cave-like hollow protruding into it. The view of the countryside rung no bells for the Squirtle. There was no recognition. He did not have the slightest idea of where he was, and was only just getting some time to think. And by now the Cyndaquil had proven that at the very least he meant the Squirtle no physical harm. He could have left him when the Paralysis kicked in, easily.

The cave was cozy. A few feet deep, which was more than enough room, since the Squirtle estimated his height at a foot and a half. The roof of the hollow was rough and rocky, but the floor was worn smooth. The Squirtle judged that he and his companion were not the first Pokémon to rest here. The Cyndaquil plopped himself down against the hollow's wall, and curled up without further ado. His eyelids would probably have closed, if they weren't already. Were they? The Squirtle stood for a moment, wondering what the best position was to rest in his new body. Before the moment could stretch on to become awkward, he settled for the way he had first woken, and sat down against the wall with his short legs stretched out in front of him. His shell made the _TOK_ sound as it clinked against rock. He flinched.

The Cyndaquil seemed to be studying him. "Well," he began. "we made it out of Root Forest. That place was insane! The storm really bothered all the Pokémon living there, huh?"

The Squirtle's thoughts were elsewhere. Something about the situation was bothering him, but he had built up so many questions, and even forgotten some of them, that he couldn't pin down what exactly was unsettling him so. "Oh...yes, it was like everyone had lost it completely." He was about to ask about why each Pokémon they encountered was intent on killing them, when the Cyndaquil spoke up.

"Oops, I forgot my manners!" The Cyndaquil rose to all fours. He seemed tense, prepared to launch himself in any direction. "My name's Quil."

The Squirtle was startled by the Cyndaquil's sudden change in posture, and stood up hurriedly. But when the Cyndaquil declared his name, he snorted in amusement. The snort almost became a full-blown laugh, but he checked it just in time. His companion would obviously be offended by someone laughing at his name. Quil, though? He was a Cyndaquil! What kind of name was Quil? That would be like a Mudkip named Kip, or a Charmander named Char!

The Squirtle turned his snort into a cough, and pretended to regain his breath. Quil. Wow. The Cyndaquil waited in the same ready position. So the Squirtle opened his mouth to say his name in turn. "My name's..." His name did not spring to mind like it always did. He had nothing to say, so he trailed off. "It's...my name is..." He felt himself freeze in shock. His name was unknown to him. The Squirtle didn't know his own name!

The Cyndaquil chuckled softly in his quiet voice. "Oh, you don't know your own name? This is the first time I've heard some humor from you!"

What was his name? What was his name!? One's name had to be the most fundamental thing that everyone simply _knew_. One of the first words learned, the word most important to one's identity, one's life, one's experience! Not knowing it was impossible, laughable. Then how could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten what everyone called him? He racked his mind for the first time since waking up under the tree, tried to access his memories now that he had solace from the chaos and fast pace of the forest.

That was it. _That_ was what had been bothering him in the back of his mind.

His memories were a void. The Squirtle could not recall a single moment before waking up. The only memories he had were those he experienced since waking up under the tree. In other words, he had less than a half hour's worth of memories. His entire conscious experience was a measly few minutes.

The Squirtle was nearly speechless. "I don't...my name is...I don't know. I don't know anything. My memories are gone! Quil, I can't remember a single thing! What happened? Why did this happen to me?"

Quil's expression slowly changed as the Squirtle watched. It had to be the equivalent of a fading grin. "I hope you're still joking. But let's be serious now, please. That's not funny."

"You think I'm joking?" He exhaled sharply in derision. "Of course you think I'm joking. The situation I'm in is a joke! I'm a Squirtle, talking to a _talking_ Cyndaquil, and – oh, that makes me a _talking_ Squirtle – and we're sitting in a cave waiting for a huge thunderstorm to pass when not a single drop of rain has fallen. That's not mentioning that I have no idea who I am, where I come from, or, or what I'm supposed to do, or-"

He ran out of breath abruptly. The Squirtle breathed in and out, in and out, but the air was a long time in coming. His lungs were burning. Thinking about what he had just said, he realized he was wrong in one aspect. He did have an idea of who he was. Or at least, what he had been. Otherwise, he would have no idea that waking up as a Pokémon was crazy. And, he realized as he thought more, he did remember some things. He must have, because he had remembered the saying about young Squirtle getting stuck on their backs. But who had said it? He let his eyes lose focus as he tried to zero in on a voice or a face, the person who had last mentioned Squirtle ending up trapped on their backs. Yet nothing sprung to his mind, the way a memory should. The memory of the expression was present, certainly, but no associated speaker, or place. It was as if he had learned the saying, then all of the context had been plucked straight out of his head.

Quil had been speaking, and was now sitting on his haunches. "...can't remember anything? What were you doing before I ran into you in the meadow? Can you remember that?"

Again, the Squirtle tried thinking backwards, retracing his steps. The wind howled outside as the time passed. The weather was improving slowly. The periodic blasts of high winds were becoming less ferocious, and less frequent. The swaying of the trees at the forest's edge was becoming harder to spot as the storm moved away or dissipated.

"It's no use. I can't remember anything specific. I do remember bits of knowledge though, like sayings, or Pokémon names, or...myself, I guess. I still have a personality, right? And I know that-" He closed his mouth. He was on the brink of explaining exactly why waking up as a Squirtle was so strange. But that would be foolish. The knowledge that he was not always a Pokémon was just about the only advantage he had at the moment. For all intents and purposes, the Squirtle was in a new world. No maps, no destination, and no memories were available to guide him. He needed every advantage he could get. He had no idea how safe it would be to reveal everything he knew to this Cyndaquil. Besides, how would the Cyndaquil react? For all the Squirtle knew, Quil could take off.

"I know that I was sleeping before you came into that clearing beneath the huge tree," he said instead. "Waking up is my first memory."

"How bizarre," Quil replied. "You don't think you were struck by lightning under that tree, do you? That could explain why you were unconscious. Although, I've never heard of _any_ Pokémon losing their memory to a lightning strike, or a move, or...well, anything."

The Squirtle toyed with the idea, but discarded it. "No, that can't be it. I woke up disoriented but completely unscathed. And the tree was intact, too."

Both were silent for a moment. Then the Cyndaquil said, "Well, Squirtle, I'm sorry this happened to you, that's for sure."

The Squirtle felt a pang of indignation at that. He was not a Squirtle! At least not inside, and not in the past. He tried to stop his emotions from showing on his face so as to not let the Cyndaquil in on his secret. "It's not your fault, Quil," he mumbled.

"Is it alright if I call you Squirtle? Since you can't remember your nickname, if you had one?"

Interesting. So Pokémon had nicknames that others called them by. "Yes, sure. That's sensible."

"Great." Again, Quil rose to all four feet, looking ready to fight or flee. "I'm Quil," he said unnecessarily.

Warily, the Squirtle rose to two feet. Quil was obviously expecting reciprocation. "For now...call me Squirtle."

And with that, Quil crouched even lower, and dashed forward, head first, toward Squirtle.

Squirtle had enough time to throw his arms up and take half a step back before Quil's head drove into the front of his shell. Squirtle was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air. A cave wall stopped his short flight. The impact broke off a few chunks of rock which clattered to the floor as he fell to the ground roughly. The Cyndaquil packed a punch!

"Agh, Squirtle, what are you doing!? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't expecting...you didn't...why didn't you try to tackle me or something? Sorry!" Quil rushed forward to help him to his feet. The Cyndaquil's snout and brows were in the same position as when he had concernedly told the Paralyzed Squirtle that he would not leave him. A distraught expression, then. There was yet hope for the Squirtle's ability to read Cyndaquil facial expressions.

"I'm okay, I think." Surprisingly, he _was_ perfectly okay. The blow would have landed him at least an injury or two, before his Pokémon transformation – a concussion or fractured rib perhaps. Now, though, he felt no lingering pain or other signs of long-term damage. Quil's headbutt and the collision with the rock wall had hurt, but not nearly as much as Squirtle felt they should have. "Doesn't your head hurt, Quil?"

The Cyndaquil's expression changed. "Huh? Erm...no, I'm fine, I'm fine." He sounded confused. The tip of his left hindleg began to draw small circles in the fine pebbles on the ground as he stood. The motion was distracting, but the Cyndaquil didn't seem to notice he was doing it. "But Squirtle, why didn't you...you know. Push me back?"

"Because I completely wasn't expecting whatever you just did. Why would you headbutt me in the middle of a conversation? For a little Pokémon, you tend to get right up in the face of other Pokémon really often."

The spike-like flames on the Cyndaquil's back flared, their light intensity and length jumping higher for a couple of seconds. The gloom of the cave retreated from the flame. Quil looked directly at Squirtle, seeming on the verge of retorting. But the fire died down, and with it, Quil's bristling posture. "_You're_ not the biggest Pokémon yourself, Squirtle," he muttered even more quietly than normal.

"Mm," Squirtle said. He hadn't meant to upset Quil.

After a moment, Quil said, "It's because you lost your memories, isn't it? I'm sorry. I should have realized you might not remember how Pokémon introduce themselves."

"You mean to say...Pokémon greet each other by attacking each other?" _Uh-oh_, thought Squirtle. That sounded too much like he was not a Pokémon. Quickly, he added, "Where I'm from, we probably have a different custom. I just can't remember it, of course."

Quil nodded. "Makes sense. If you can remember sayings and other general knowledge, I bet you wouldn't forget everyday things like introducing yourself."

The pair listened to the wind outside during the break in conversation. It had died down considerably. Now that the noise outside was quieter, Squirtle found he could actually hear Quil's flames. The air burned and crackled in the flames extending out of Quil's back, emitting a barely perceptible roar. The sound of a bundle of dry sticks spewing streams of flame into the open, limitless air.

Squirtle took to pacing the short length of the cave – fifteen paces each way. In his mind, he ran over the facts he knew. Quil rested against the rear wall, apparently lost in thought himself. It wasn't long before Squirtle spoke up. First things first.

"Quil, what are you doing out here? How come you were traveling through the forest?"

The Cyndaquil's snout drooped. "I have to get somewhere, Squirtle. I'm on a journey." He paused. "A long, long journey," he said, wistfully.

"Where to?"

Quil's eye wrinkles stretched sideways, and the fur at the base of his snout twitched. His snout-tip pointed a bit higher. A smile! "You wouldn't know it if I said it, would you? My next stop is Karprest though. Is that familiar to you?"

Squirtle shook his head. "To be honest, it doesn't much matter to me. Quil, I..." He hesitated. Maybe Cyndaquil were solitary Pokémon, and Quil would react negatively to his request. But Quil certainly didn't seem like a loner from the way he had acted thus far. He turned away from Quil, working up courage. Well, his dignity was already stripped from him somewhere in the forest between his being stuck on his back and his frantic whispers of "What do we do?! What do we do?!"

He faced Quil. "Quil...I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. And I...I can't remember how to fight Pokémon, so I'm...I'm a bit helpless, I guess." Warmth filled his face. It was almost pleasant knowing that Squirtles could blush too. Almost.

Quil watched, listening intently. Squirtle pressed on before he could lose his nerve. "You seem to know how to look out for yourself, and you're the only Pokémon I've encountered that hasn't attacked me. Well, attacked me with violent intent." He tried to crack a smile, but he was too fearful of rejection for it to come out as anything more than a lop-sided mouth jerk.

"What I mean to say is...Quil, can I travel with you?"

In response, the Cyndaquil contracted into himself, becoming small and compact. He squeezed himself as small as he could get, becoming a ball of fur and flame on the cave floor. Squirtle stepped forward tentatively. Was Quil alright? Why did he curl up so tightly? It was as if he was going to...

Quil exploded upward. As he pirouetted in the air, all four limbs extended outward in joy, Quil shouted his response. "YES!" The instant he landed, Quil leaped forward to take the nonplussed Squirtle's hand with his stubby forelimbs, and performed a wild little victory dance right then and there, laughing all the while.

His energy was infectious. Squirtle sighed in relief, and smiled. He chuckled in amusement at Quil's impassioned reaction. Then he laughed at Quil's antics, and mimicked Quil's jig. And soon, he found himself laughing heartily for no particular reason. He felt lighthearted and joyous. Some of the weight that had accumulated on his shoulders since waking up under that tree was now lifted. He wasn't going to be alone. He wouldn't have to face these trying circumstances with no one to turn to for help.

"I'm so glad you want to come with me, Squirtle!" Quil said. "The first leg of my journey wasn't a problem, but Wildfire Fields was a bit daunting. Once I made it out, I kept thinking about how tough it would be to keep on like that. Fighting the Pokémon there by myself, walking all day by myself, you know, it's not how Pokémon should be! Now, my dad kept telling me," Here Quil lowered his voice's pitch in imitation, "The pilgrimage is your burden, you must not rely on other, stronger Pokémon for help." His voice returned to normal. "But this is fine! You're not st-" he stopped short, and he looked away from Squirtle. "Erm...that is, I haven't seen you fight, but...you said it yourself: you think you're a bit helpless. I'm not breaking any promises if you accompany me, Squirtle." Excitement crept back into his voice. "Let's go together!" He chuckled gleefully.

Squirtle continued to smile. Without thinking, he began to throw his arm forward purposefully to offer a handshake. Never mind that the Cyndaquil had no hands and his own forelimbs may not be able to grip anything very well. His old ways still wanted to make themselves known. As his arm stretched out, he realized that a handshake would never exist in this Pokémon culture. Squirtle turned his motion into a stretch forward and upward, and followed it up with his other arm. Hopefully Quil wouldn't think twice about the odd 'stretch'. Squirtle was surprised once again by his body as he extended his limbs to their maximum extent. They were so short!

"Oh, so you're ready to go, Squirtle? Me too!" Quil exclaimed.

Whoops. Squirtle turned his head, in the middle of his stretch, and glanced outside the cave hollow. The worst of the storm was decidedly over. A breeze was present, no doubt, and would likely persist for quite a while. Daylight was burning though. If the hilly landscape was at last traversable, there would be no point in staying put.

"Ready when you are, Quil."

The pair quit the hollow, blinking in the relative brightness. At least, Squirtle was blinking. Quil probably didn't need to blink because his eyes were barely open, if at all. The stormy haze had lessened along with the jostling winds, so Squirtle could follow by eye the path that wended all the way down to the structures at the riverside. The hills obscured the majority of the path, but it was definitely continuous with plenty of room to move, which promised an easy walk.

Did Pokémon have villages, or even cities? Squirtle had no other explanation come to mind regarding the clearly 'Pokémon-made' structures at the end of the road. Thick, wooden posts at the corners supported slats of wood, with grasses packed tightly together as roofing. Some had rectangular or circular apertures cut into the side as windows, and some even had wind vanes atop the roofs. _Those would have seen some action in the last few hours_, thought Squirtle.

The structures' architecture was a far cry from greatness, especially since signs of damage were evident even from this distance. The storm had been brutal. And unless those buildings fell to pieces each time bad weather struck, this storm was especially powerful. No surprise, considering the state of the forest-dwelling Pokémon.

"Karprest," Quil said, following Squirtle's gaze. "My next stop." His voice brightened. "_Our_ next stop."

"So _that's_ Karprest." He refrained from asking the questions on his mind, the foremost being 'Is it a Pokémon village?' Even now, remaining cautious with his words around Quil was mandatory, as he could not afford to give the impression of confusion and naivete when speaking about ideas and knowledge that were commonplace to Quil, or presumably any other traveling Pokémon. Squirtle's loss of memories would allow him some leeway, but it would be best to not ask _too_ many questions. With a sinking heart, he realized his curiosity and thirst for answers would constantly have to be weighed against the need to avoid sounding like a total outsider to Quil.

The Squirtle took a deep breath. He expected to smell the scents he had long ago come to associate with the calm following a storm: the moistness of reinvigorated soil, the freshness of the still grass, the myriad scents emanating from the plant life all around. No such smells existed here. The storm had left dryness and, if anything, a burnt electrical smell. _If lightning had a smell_, Squirtle thought, _this would be it._

Squirtle was not eager for traveling, but it was a necessity. Answers would not find him. He'd have to seek them out.

Quil said, "Let's talk about the long-term a bit later on, okay, Squirtle? I want to focus on reaching Karprest. I have a hunch that Root Forest's Pokémon won't be the last ones we encounter who are looking for a fight. Out here, with no cover from the storm, the last couple of hours must have been terrifying." Squirtle grunted his assent.

The Cyndaquil and Squirtle began walking along the dirt path that continued from the forest's mouth all the way down to the river in the distance.

"I just realized," said Quil suddenly, "What a coincidence that this terrible, rainless thunderstorm hit on the same day you woke up without any memories!" He chuckled softly in wonder.

Squirtle took in a sharp breath. Quil was right. How had he not realized that already? The two unprecedented events had to be linked somehow. The odds of them being independent of each other were astronomical.

"Stranger things have happened though. It's just a one-of-a-kind day, right?" Quil walked steadily onward, apparently believing the two extraordinary events to really _be_ a coincidence. Squirtle couldn't rule that possibility out, but his mind naturally concluded that powerful coincidences like this were rare. He no longer had memories of any examples that compared to this situation, but the experience was nonetheless there, somewhere in his skull.

As the pair rounded the first bend in the road to circle around a grassy rise, a lone tree came into view on the side of the road. Its branches extended over a few bushes and shrubs that grew near the tree's base. The ensemble brought to Squirtle's mind images of a towering man holding back a pack of bloodthirsty beasts, all tensed and fervently awaiting the signal to leap forth and savage whatever passed on the road.

With that disturbing image, Squirtle cut off his previous train of thought about coincidences. Quil was right, and Squirtle ought to trust him: danger could be anywhere around them. This was no pleasure stroll. For all they knew, bloodthirsty beasts _could_ be waiting amongst that cover. They had to be vigilant.

Because if they were attacked, there would be no place to hide. No place to escape to. This was the open countryside. Squirtle swallowed, trying to quell the rising fear. If they were attacked, he would have to fight.


	3. Chapter 3: Foreign

**Chapter 3**

**Foreign**

"Would you like a berry, Squirtle?"

Quil plucked two bright berries from the boughs of a delicate tree. Each was a vivid sky blue, and when looked at closely, covered with darker speckles all over. Not counting the wide leaves at the stem, each berry was big enough to be two or three mouthfuls. Fuller mouthfuls, for the Cyndaquil.

He backed away from the berry tree, carrying the berries gingerly using both forelimbs, and rejoined Squirtle on the path leading through the hills and slopes to Karprest.

"We have to keep our strength up on the road, Squirtle. I don't know about you, but I've been hungry since we left Root Forest. So unless you have some snacks stashed in your shell..." He pretended to give a look-over of Squirtle's shell. "...you must be hungry too!" He laughed lightly.

Squirtle nodded gratefully and accepted one of the berries. As he caught the berry's faint, unfamiliar scent, he found he _was_ hungry.

"Thanks, Quil. What is it?"

"Actually...I don't know."

Squirtle stopped with the fruit halfway to his mouth. "You don't know?"

Hurriedly, Quil said, "Oh, well I know it's not poisonous! I've eaten them before! I just don't know what they're called, or if they're useful for reversing any conditions. But honestly, they're fine to eat. I know that much. They can't be harmful if I've eaten them before with no side-effects, right? Not even a stomach ache."

Squirtle thought for a moment, berry in hands, then asked, "Are there foods that affect different Pokémon in different ways?"

"I...never thought of that, Squirtle. But no, not to my knowledge. Someone would have told me, I think, if that were true. A berry's a berry." He Cyndaquil-smiled at Squirtle, which was identifiable by his eye wrinkles stretching sideways.

Squirtle nodded, and without further hesitation, chomped down on the skin of the berry. The slightly hooked shape of his upper lip helped to break through the skin of the berry. _Maybe it would help in a tight spot during a fight_, he thought offhandedly as the berry juice rushed into his mouth.

Bitter. The berry tasted decidedly bitter. However, the berry's spongy texture and water component redeemed it. The bitterness wasn't _too_ strong, anyway. Squirtle could overlook the taste, considering his formidable hunger. As he started on his second bite, Squirtle felt something on his skin that he thought he recognized. The sensation felt like a chilly breeze whispering against his exposed skin. But he soon forgot about the fading sensation as he noticed what Quil was doing.

The Cyndaquil had his berry balanced on the tip of his short snout. He was walking next to the Squirtle on his two legs as he had been, but his face was pointed straight up. The blue berry was desperately trying to roll off his snout. Yet Quil was skilled, and countered every one of the berry's wobbly motions with a quick adjustment of his snout position. All the while, he silently and smoothly kept pace with Squirtle.

"Impressive," Squirtle commented.

Quil jerked his snout back, allowing the berry to drop to his mouth. He took a little bite and sucked in as much of the flowing juice as he could. After chewing and swallowing, he said, "Thanks. My older brother used to balance his food like that all the time." Quil was smiling. "He was an expert," he added quietly.

Squirtle turned away and resumed scanning the road sides for threats. Quil must have been close to his family, as he'd mentioned them a couple of times already. Squirtle wanted to ask his companion why he was journeying, and where he came from, but questions addressing immediate matters, like survival, had to be asked first.

Up on a nearby hilltop, with its body framed against the cloudy sky, Squirtle spotted a small Pokémon. It had pointy, horn-like structures sprouting from its head, and its arms swirled outward to become floral blooms. Roselia. The species name sprung into Squirtle's mind, as it had with Cyndaquil. Thus, Squirtle could remember the names of at least the more common Pokémon. Fortunately, the silhouette seemed to regard them for a moment, then turn away and descend the other side of the hill.

"Did you see that Pokémon? I think a Roselia?" Squirtle raised his little arm to point. "It was atop that hill, way over there."

"No, I must have missed it. Why?"

"It noticed us, but it left us alone."

"Yeah, I think you're right, Squirtle." He took a little bite out of his speckled berry. "But what's strange about that?"

The Squirtle felt himself beginning to blush again. Being ignorant of what was apparently common sense was really embarrassing him! Yet he couldn't take back what he said now.

"Well, why didn't it attack us? Every other Pokémon we've seen has. And you said it yourself, the Pokémon living out here just experienced the storm to end all storms. You made it sound like they would be scared into a fighting mood."

"Erm, Squirtle...wouldn't _you_?"

Squirtle was taken aback. His reasoning mind wanted to immediately respond 'No,' but he reminded himself of his present position and his new perspective. He imagined himself huddling behind the leeward side of a tree, making himself as small as he could, and desperately waiting for the storm to pass each time a lightning bolt illuminated the countryside with an accompanying thunderclap. Yes, he would be frightened. But he would not want to fight any travelers that passed by. Definitely not. He told the Cyndaquil so.

This time, Quil seemed surprised. "But Squirtle, your instincts would be roused. I don't know much about the instincts of your kind, but I know that most Pokémon fight first and ask questions later when they find themselves in a dangerous situation. That's just how we are when our instincts rise up."

He lowered his head and seemed sheepish when he spoke again. "Explaining this is so odd. You don't have your memories though, so I'm not just stating the obvious, right? If you could remember your past, I'm sure you could recall times when your instincts took over after you were scared or threatened."

_I doubt it, Quil_, Squirtle thought with a grimace. Thinking further, an inconsistency with Quil's explanation occurred to him.

"Quil, _you_ didn't want to battle other Pokémon, back in the forest. And I didn't either."

Quil laughed softly. "Ha, I admit, it's easier for some 'mon to keep their heads, as it is for you or me. It helps if you're a traveler, since there are no territorial urges at work." He began to sound sheepish again. "This is just so _strange_, explaining this. Do you understand what this is like, Squirtle? I feel like I'm explaining why Bugs are scared of Flyers, or what color the sky is."

"Please, continue," Squirtle urged.

"Anyway, so there are no territorial urges – homes to protect, children to defend, food sources to look after. And I think simply being out of your element lessens the urge to fight, too. There's no reason to challenge and push out newcomers when you're away from home." He reflected for a couple of seconds. He seemed pensive. "Oh, and Pokémon who don't live in the wild won't be itching to fight, either. The residents of Karprest will be peaceable. At least, they _should _be," he finished quietly.

"Pokémon live outside the wild?"

"Some. It's not for everyone."

Squirtle glanced over. "Did you, Quil?"

"Me? Oh, no. I live with my family over in Steady Steppe." Noticing the Squirtle's lack of reaction, he explained, "It's a prairie, a huge grassland. Back where we came from, way past Root Forest." He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again. "That's where I'm from," he said finally.

"Did you lose anything back in the forest? Equipment, or provisions for your trip?"

"I never brought anything in the first place, Squirtle." He chuckled. "Finding food on the go has never been an issue for me. Besides," he stopped and raised his rounded forelimbs, waggling them for effect. "Bags, ropes, knots – they don't do me any good!" He continued walking along the path. "Most Pokémon don't carry any gear with them, Squirtle," he explained.

Squirtle kept his head up, but he no longer paid any attention to the road sides. His attention was held rapt by the Cyndaquil's words. Yet he was still careful to not make any exclamations of surprise that would draw Quil's attention. Squirtle didn't want Quil to see the depths of his amazement, and raise any suspicions of Squirtle's history.

Pokémon didn't bring anything with them when they traveled! Remarkable! To think that a Pokémon could find anything it needed along the way, no matter the distance or terrain, seemed impossible. Although, Pokémon were wild creatures. They did not require the luxuries that Squirtle was used to, like sleeping bags or any form of clothing. Pokémon were resilient and hardy. They did not succumb easily to the elements, and sickness was practically unheard of. This, Squirtle knew. Though he could not recall where or how he learned about Pokémon, he was pleased to find that his knowledge was not lacking in that topic. _Now I'm learning more about Pokémon, firsthand, _he thought._ It's comforting to know that I'm not fragile on a dangerous trip like this._

Looking down, he considered his shell in a new light. He tapped various portions with a claw and listened to the short but pure notes of sound each tap produced. His shell was body armor and a musical instrument in one. Moving his gaze beyond his shell, he examined the blue skin he now wore. He tried pinching his arm between two claw tips, but the skin was not loose enough to allow even a tiny pinch. His skin was smooth as well as tight. No fur or scales gave it any texture.

His gait felt strange, since his legs were now shorter and farther apart. With every step he took, his toe-claws dug slightly into the ground to provide extra grip. As when he had reflexively dug in his claws to grip the monstrous root, Squirtle felt a tad disgusted when he thought about what his feet were doing. He tried not to think about how bestial and uncouth it was, and gradually became used to that aspect of his body.

Surprisingly, he had become accustomed to his tail in no time. Its presence felt natural, as if he'd had a strangely shaped tail extending out of the bottom of his shell for his whole life. He carried the tail just a few inches above the ground, and it curled further away from the ground along its length. Testing it now, Squirtle reckoned it was not as powerful as his other limbs, but it was still muscular and sturdy enough to do some damage if he ever used it as a club in a battle. He smiled foolishly as he drew circles in the air, trying out its range of motion. Thankfully, Quil wasn't looking behind them.

The short fur coating Quil's body consisted of two colors. On his underside, it shone the same milky color as Squirtle's belly scutes, but everywhere else the fur was a blue much darker than Squirtle's skin. If Squirtle's coloration was the sky at noon, Quil's was the night sky slightly brightened by a full moon. Quil's body was curiously shaped. His squat legs ended not in toes, but in a hard covering caught halfway between a hoof and a claw. Neither did Quil have any digits or claws on his forelimbs, but instead just a furry stub. His slender snout was tipped with two slits for nostrils.

Being on fire would alarm most Pokémon, but Quil appeared indifferent. Of course, he would be well used to it. Besides, having a back that spewed flames was far from being among the strangest or most alarming abilities of all the diverse Pokémon species. Looking closely, Squirtle could see four furless spots on Quil's back where the fire originated. The flames of each spot combined to form jagged spikes of fire that reached a good foot behind him. The Cyndaquil himself was only about a foot and a half tall, like Squirtle, so the flames were relatively far-reaching.

The eyes were what captivated Squirtle the most. Were they open? Quil could see just fine, so they had to be. But the area around the eyes was scrunched up! How could Quil see through all of the wrinkles? How could _anyone_? Squirtle wanted to know, badly, but he dared not ask his companion. He had a feeling that the Cyndaquil would have been asked countless times already. Quil's eyesight might well be an eternal mystery.

Squirtle's attention was drawn to a flicker of motion on the left. A Doduo was moving about on the grass near a rocky cliff drop. The left head kept nipping at the right head, while the right head tried to crane its neck out of reach. Both travelers noticed the wild Pokémon at the same time. Quickly, they scurried forward until the hilly landscape shielded them from view.

"Whew!" Quil exclaimed after a minute had passed. "Good thing the Doduo was distracted by...itself. Squirtle, you wouldn't happen to remember how Doduo can have two heads but one body, would you? How can they move? If one head wants to go one way, but the other head wants to go another way...?"

Squirtle tried to shrug, but found that he could not in his new form, so he said, "Sorry, I've got no answers. But try looking at it this way: you're on fire, but that's perfectly ordinary for you, right?"

Quil stopped and faced Squirtle. "What do you mean, 'that's perfectly ordinary for you'? Of course it is! Why would it be strange?"

Squirtle held his hands up defensively. "I just mean that Pokémon are many and diverse, and while Doduo having two heads makes no sense to us, the Doduo likely thinks it's the most normal thing in the world."

Quil seemed to eye Squirtle for a moment, but then continued his walk down the road with a sigh that Squirtle barely heard. "Mm, you're right, Squirtle."

Now Squirtle felt the mood was uncomfortable. "Quil, listen, I'm sorry if I ever come off as rude or tactless." _But I've never been a Pokémon before!_ he yelled in his head. "I just can't remember what to say, or how to say it. For all I know, I've never spoken with a Cyndaquil before. Please forgive me if I ever say the wrong thing."

Quil took a moment to reply. "I understand. I have no right to be mad at you." He turned and gave what appeared to be a slight smile.

Even after apologizing, Squirtle felt lousy. He owed the Cyndaquil so much in the brief time he'd known him, and all he had done to return Quil's kindness was ply him with questions and unintentionally insult him. At this rate, Quil would probably choose loneliness and a solitary journey over having Squirtle as a companion. Squirtle's face took on a determined cast. He _would_ return Quil's generosity. He did not want to feel guilty or embarrassed again, like when Quil chose to defend him in the forest instead of fleeing. With his mind set, Squirtle awaited an opportunity to pay Quil back.

The leftovers of the storm clouds thinned out, but still the sun did not show even a glimpse of its light. The day grew darker as the pair hiked down the road to Karprest. Two more times, they spotted wild Pokémon, but managed to avoid a confrontation. At one point, the path pointed directly at Karprest, and the pair caught a glimpse of roofs through the hilly terrain. Karprest was about a half mile away. _Half a mile away is half a world away now that I'm just a little Squirtle. _Then Karprest was hidden from view, and they pressed on.

The path led around a steep hill. When the path straightened out, the ground on the other side of the path sloped upward, becoming another hill. The dirt road narrowed. It would barely squeeze through the canyon before it opened up once more a couple hundred paces ahead. The narrow canyon was the third canyon they'd traversed on the path. It would have been no cause to worry, but this time the dirt path halfway through the canyon was covered in rocks blocking their way. The canyon walls were exposed rock, a common sight in the area. But the storm had rattled the area and dislodged all loose gravel and larger rocks. The walk was set to become a brief rock climbing experience. Most of the rocks were at least as large as the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Quil deflated with a groan. "Too much to ask for an easy trip to Karprest," he mumbled.

"Quil, you've made it all the way here in one piece, and you were alone. This is nothing to you! C'mon, let's just get it over with, eh?" Alright, maybe he went overboard with the enthusiasm.

Quil looked at him, then shook his head, laughing. "Lead on, O Fearless One!"

Squirtle flinched from the grating sound his claws made against the first of the fallen rocks. The quiet gloom of the canyon was exacerbated by the harsh sounds the Pokémon made as they scrambled over the rocks. Quil quickly went to all fours for more stability. His balance was thereby assured on the uneven and tilted surfaces he had to tread. Squirtle, on the other hand, maintained his upright posture. Inside he knew he should mimic Quil. His logical mind knew it, and his Squirtle body felt uncomfortable with his two-legged walking in this situation. Still, he did not give in.

_I am the master of this body, and I know what is best. My...instincts, and the inclinations of this body I wear are not going to decide how I act. Not now, not ever._

The Cyndaquil did not make any comment, despite having to stop and wait every few seconds for the slower Squirtle to jump or step to the next rock. Maybe he thought it normal for the Squirtle species to stay on two feet. The Squirtle knew otherwise, thanks to the apprehension he felt inside with every step. _This is like making a turn on a bicycle without using the handlebars!_

Halfway through the littered rocks and gravel, Squirtle lost his balance and slowly tipped over backwards toward the hard and angular rocks behind him. "Whoa!" he cried. He windmilled his arms, but it was too late.

"Squirtle!" called Quil, helpless to intervene.

Then he fell backwards. An unfamiliar urge compelled the Squirtle to flex something inside. It was not a group of muscles he had ever used. He contracted, quicker than conscious thought.

Impact. His shell made a clatter that echoed against the canyon walls.

The world went dark. He could see nothing but blackness. No, there was some light, with blackness all around it. His field of vision had been significantly reduced. He could see an oval of dim gray light.

"Are you okay?"

Huh?

He was conscious. And not in pain. Still, his body felt strange, broken somehow. Like his head was pressed into his chest. His arms, legs and tail, too, were in a new position. Everything was pressed together, folded tightly into a small space.

_Oh!_ Squirtle realized what had happened. He relaxed, releasing the tension of the muscles inside his shell. The light expanded, resolving into an image of the pebbles below the last jump he had made. At the same time, he felt his limbs and tail leave the slots in his shell.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he replied to the voice of Quil, who released a relieved sigh.

Squirtle determined he was facing earthward, and his shell was wedged between the two large rocks he had jumped between. No waggling or wiggling could move him. The two heavy rocks had him pinched in the front and back of his protective shell, suspending him a foot or two above the finer rocks that covered the path.

"Er, Quil, would you mind hoisting me up? I'm stuck."

"Oh, of course." The Squirtle felt Cyndaquil's furry forelimbs squeezing one of his ankles, then he was promptly pulled upward. With a new sort of scraping noise, his shell was released from the grasp of the rocks. He stood up on a flatter part of the rock.

"Thanks Quil."

"Please, don't mention it," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you're okay. Though, with a shell like that, I'd be surprised if you weren't."

Squirtle nodded in agreement. "My shell...my shell isn't scratched is it?" He felt silly, worrying about his looks, but felt a compulsion to ask nonetheless. His Squirtle's needs and desires were affecting his mind again. Frustration rose within him, but was then replaced with doubt and uncertainty.

Were they his instincts as a Squirtle that made him worry about how his shell looked? Or had his personality changed in his transformation? Maybe more than just the form he wore had been changed. Maybe he was giving his new body too much credit, and half of what he thought was due to becoming a Squirtle, was actually caused by his identity being remolded during the transformation. Like moist clay, his personality could have been remade.

"Nope, your shell is brown like al-...wait, no, there's actually a little scratch. It's a bit darker right...here." Squirtle felt a dull pressure as Quil traced a horizontal line across his back where he could not see. His sense of touch on his shell was faint and vague, so he could not tell exactly where Quil was pressing. He realized he wouldn't feel impacts and cuts nearly as much though, which far outweighed that negative.

"Alright, er...good to know," he said to Quil, who nodded.

With that, the pair continued the remainder of the way over the rocks. This time, the Squirtle moved at about half his previous speed. He did not want to take another tumble. Although he knew that his shell was there for protection, and thus its purpose was to be banged up, he felt protective of it. Those feelings and his musings about self-identity occupied the Squirtle until his claws safely touched down on the dirt path once more.

Quil shook himself and his fire flared higher for a second. "Hoo! I hope we're back to easy walking from here on, Squirtle." He fell into line behind Squirtle in the narrowness of the canyon. The opening out of the gloom was less than fifty steps ahead.

Squirtle allowed himself to relax. The one good thing about the enclosed canyon was its safety. They couldn't see any wild Pokémon from inside, and wild Pokémon couldn't see them.

A low growl emanated from the canyon's exit. Squirtle looked up sharply. There stood a Pokémon about the same size as Squirtle or Cyndaquil. Alternating brown and white striped fur covered its body up to its brown-furred face. A mask of black fur surrounded its eyes. Its jagged mouth was pulled back, revealing clenched fangs that shook with the beast's growl. Zigzagoon. Judging by its stance, the Pokémon had been crossing the path near the canyon's exit when it had looked inside and noticed the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Squirtle turned to check that Quil had heard the Zigzagoon, and watched Quil slowly lower himself to a battle-ready stance. Turning back, he swallowed.

From behind him, Quil said, "I don't like it, but we have no choice this time. We have to push forward Squirtle. We're going to have to fight that Zigzagoon."

"Can't we..." Squirtle's eyes swept rapidly around him, taking in nothing but the steep rocky walls of the canyon. "Let's go back. Cross the rocks."

The Zigzagoon's growl raised in pitch, and it hustled toward the pair. The look in its eyes spoke of determined violence. Squirtle could now see the dirty claws on each of its paws.

"Squirtle, I'm scared too! But this is what happens when you travel. I wish it was easier, trust me, I do. But this is how it is. Just...do what comes naturally, we'll be fine!" But Quil didn't sound very confident, and his voice was never loud to begin with. Squirtle was not inspired in the least.

The Zigzagoon was almost upon them. Here was a living, tangible beast that intended to hurt him, to physically knock him out. Squirtle's knees began to wobble. He felt unsteady.

He heard Quil shouting from behind him. "Squirtle, there's no room, I can't help you! Look out!"


End file.
